After operating for over a century as an exclusively girls-only school, they have responded to the government's arm twisting and are opening their doors to male applicants for the first time this spring.
The paint is still drying in the newly constructed and quite swanky boy's restrooms. The other day I witnessed news crews anxiously setting up cameras inside them under the watchful eye of a vice principal. All this celebratory attention lavished on the boy's restrooms is a dramatic contrast to the rest of the school's Chernobyl vibe. And no, inviting the comparison isn't much of an exaggeration, though instead of radiation, our chief environmental hazard stems from asbestos and paint made in China. Sort of like if 17 years ago, this school stopped running for whatever reason, everyone hastily evacuated and no one ever returned to collect their things. And I am not the sort of American who thinks "Oh, that distinctive Soviet charm!" everytime I see forbidding concrete structures, peeling paint, broken rotary telephones, dirty fans from the Eisenhower administration or creepy public service posters.
Besides, there is a Belarusian restaurant next door to our apartment where the proprieter's Stalin-inspired hospitality and attitude towards Americans make the Cold War seem as current and alive as the one in Iraq. And Casey refuses to go there again on account of "her vampire teeth."
But back to my ever-elusive point, there is something about the school that I can't adequately describe. "Neglect" isn't the right word, because that wouldn't fair to the janitorial staff. It just feels like Miss Havisham's mansion, ancient, vaguely female and deterioating. We even have an eroding bronze statue of a naked adolescent girl at the front of our school as a hallmark of feminine decay.
And for the record, Casey's school, formerly an all boy's school, is very different. A telling indication of how the Miyagi government prioritizes its spending.
The paint is still drying in the newly constructed and quite swanky boy's restrooms. The other day I witnessed news crews anxiously setting up cameras inside them under the watchful eye of a vice principal. All this celebratory attention lavished on the boy's restrooms is a dramatic contrast to the rest of the school's Chernobyl vibe. And no, inviting the comparison isn't much of an exaggeration, though instead of radiation, our chief environmental hazard stems from asbestos and paint made in China. Sort of like if 17 years ago, this school stopped running for whatever reason, everyone hastily evacuated and no one ever returned to collect their things. And I am not the sort of American who thinks "Oh, that distinctive Soviet charm!" everytime I see forbidding concrete structures, peeling paint, broken rotary telephones, dirty fans from the Eisenhower administration or creepy public service posters.
Besides, there is a Belarusian restaurant next door to our apartment where the proprieter's Stalin-inspired hospitality and attitude towards Americans make the Cold War seem as current and alive as the one in Iraq. And Casey refuses to go there again on account of "her vampire teeth."
But back to my ever-elusive point, there is something about the school that I can't adequately describe. "Neglect" isn't the right word, because that wouldn't fair to the janitorial staff. It just feels like Miss Havisham's mansion, ancient, vaguely female and deterioating. We even have an eroding bronze statue of a naked adolescent girl at the front of our school as a hallmark of feminine decay.
And for the record, Casey's school, formerly an all boy's school, is very different. A telling indication of how the Miyagi government prioritizes its spending.
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